Page 58 of The Chef and the Countess

“You gave Teddy a purpose in the four months he stayed here. You taught him life and work skills he will put to good use. He was ready to leave, Liam, and took the opportunity of running his own eating establishment. He just used his possible father as an excuse. Do not blame yourself. However, you should have a serious discussion with Timmy and see what goals he wishes to achieve. How old is he?”

“I have no bloody idea.”

Celia shook her head and tsked. “Do you want some advice?”

“Aye, go on.”

“You must take more of an interest in your staff, day and night.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed, giving her such a look of desire that her heart skipped a beat. “I’ve taken an interest in you.”

“That is not the same, although I welcome it. I proposed something to the staff: We share a family meal every night between the restaurant closing and the pub opening.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot upward. “Family?”

Celia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no right to suggest radical recommendations about how Liam ran his business. “I-I-I—blast. I thought the people who work—especially those who live here—would appreciate feeling valued and part of the bigger picture. For some of them, this group of people will be the only family they have. It is like a manor house where the family lives upstairs, and the family of servants lives downstairs. But what I propose is better. Everyone is part of the same group, sharing goals and ambitions and giving support.”

Liam shook his head. “I’m not sure—”

“Let me finish. You should join them, open up, and welcome them into your heart. I know I told you that before, but it’s still true. Sit at the head of the table and get to know them better. Share a laugh and praise them for a job well done where warranted. Talk about food and possible improvements. Do not go to your room immediately after your day is done or come down to breakfast after everyone has eaten. Sit and talk and share a meal with your employees. Your family. Please say you will try it.”

“I eat breakfast with them,” Liam grumbled stubbornly.

“But not every day.”

“I’m not one for conversation.”

“I understand. But you won’t know how it will go unless you try,” Celia urged.

Liam exhaled. “Fine. I’ll give it a go. What in the bloody hell do I talk about?”

“As I said, food. The restaurant. You enjoy those subjects. You can try out new recipes and allow the staff to make suggestions. Tommy already came up with a wonderful idea. We were talking about it when you came in.” Celia stood, brought over the old cookbook, and handed it to Liam. “On the left-hand side, middle of the page.”

“Fried potato shavings?” Liam read the directions. “Interesting,” he murmured.

“Tommy said we could serve them with a hot sandwich for lunch or the pub at night!” Celia enthused excitedly. “Perhaps sprinkle a little vinegar and salt on them. I will bet they would taste good with fried meat or fish.”

“Hmm. Splashing vinegar on them would make them soggy. We could place a dish or bottle of vinegar on the side. In Alexis Soyer’s cookbook, he has a recipe for fried fish that is dipped into flour and water and then submerged in oil and fried until crispy. A few fish and chip shops have opened in the East End, actual sit-down restaurants that serve the fish dish with bread and mashed peas. You can also buy it from costermongers on the street who wrap the fish and potatoes in a newspaper. It’s a cheap, hot dish and very popular.”

“What is a chip?”

“I don’t suppose you came across it in your aristocratic house.”

Celia placed her hands on her hips, exasperated. “Right. And what was that aside about a countess’s parlor, you said earlier? A slam at me?”

Liam gave her a contrite look. “I am sorry. Why I said countess, I have no idea. It was not meant as a slam, as you call it. Not at all. I was cross because of Teddy’s situation and took it out on everyone.”

“I accept your apology. It wouldn’t hurt to say you’re sorry to the staff. I know talented chefs can be temperamental, or so I’ve read in books. That does not have to be you. You are better than that. I know you are.”

Liam nodded, his expression reflective, as if he took in all she had said and considered it.

“Now, I ask again. What is a chip?” Celia questioned.

Liam gave her a quirky smile. He looked so adorable when he did that. “It’s long, thick strips of potato fried in oil. I considered adding it to the menu, but working with hot oil or fat didn’t appeal to me. I believed the dish should be left to the street vendors. I want to serve food a step or two up from the street.”

“I can see that. But if it is catching on beyond street food, perhaps you should consider it,” Celia suggested.

“It would mean someone would have to operate the stove for the frying. A pot full of oil or drippings can be dangerous—and messy. It can catch fire like that.” Liam snapped his fingers.